


Just a Little More

by Monsterfacedgirl



Series: Freedom and Peace [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bury your straights, Character death if you squint, Established Relationship, F/F, Maybe a little angsty?, Snatchers, okay maybe not squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:13:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25844116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monsterfacedgirl/pseuds/Monsterfacedgirl
Summary: On the run from Snatchers, Hermione's thoughts turn to Fleur Delacour
Relationships: Fleur Delacour/Hermione Granger
Series: Freedom and Peace [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1889314
Comments: 13
Kudos: 156





	1. Hermione Granger

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little oneshot about Hermione's thoughts whilst running from the Snatchers. Mostly canon compliant until this, expect for Bill and Fleur's wedding. 
> 
> Also, just a heads up - Fleurmione Week 2020 is a go! 7 days of Fleurmione based prompts, begining on the 3rd of September. If you want more information, check out the Tumblr post: https://fleurmioneweek.tumblr.com/

Hermione’s breath came in short pants as she weaved through the trees. She could hear Harry’s footsteps thundering beside her, Ron falling further behind. Only one thought went through her head. _Just a little more._ One more step. Dig a little deeper into her reserves. The Snatchers were gaining, that much could be certain.

How could they be so stupid? Saying _his_ name. Of course there would be a curse on the name. A tracker. They still had so much to do. _Just a little more._ Could you run forever? Hermione’s heart was pounding, her legs aching. _Just a little more._

The Snatchers were too close now, Hermione barely missing their curses. She felt one graze her arm, a telltale warm liquid rushing free from the hit. What was she even running for anymore? For the future? For what was right? For muggleborns? For freedom, and peace, and everything that came from it?

For Fleur Delacour.

For the future they dared dream about, in stolen moments.

For the chance, the _slimmest_ possibility of a better tomorrow.

That seemed to be the push Hermione needed, throwing her own spells back over her shoulder. It was too dangerous to attempt to apparate, but she could throw spells in the hope for a little more time.

_Just a little more._

Another curse hit Hermione. Landing squarely on her ribs. She barely felt it, not letting her pace falter. She couldn’t. Not when her head was filled with Fleur’s voice, telling her _just a little more._ To come back to her.

Hermione Granger promised to come back.

And Hermione Jean Granger never broke a promise.

_Just a little more._

She felt, rather than saw, _that_ green curse go flying wildly over her shoulder. It ruffled her hair.

_Come back to me, mon amour._

_Promets-moi._

_Promise me._

_Please._

_Just a little more._

The next curse sliced her cheek. Root’s seem to burst out of the ground, desperately trying to trip the pair as they ran. Ron had been caught, Hermione was certain of this.

Another curse hit Hermione square in the back. This time, she did stumble. Harry fell a few feet in front. The Gryffindor knew it was too much blood. Too much too fast. She raised her wand weakly, hexing Harry straight in the face. His shock was evident, but the damage was done, his face bubbling and enlarging.

_You ‘ave done zo much._

_Just a little more._

The Snatcher’s laughed at the pair. A foot stomped on Hermione’s back, in the name of good measure. Her vision was fading, fast. Another foot pressing down on her. Pushing her deeper in the mud.

Hermione barely made out her blood soaking the mud around her. It was fitting, in the name of the war, that her blood was returning to the mud, leaving her body almost eagerly. She couldn’t hear what their captures were saying. Instead, she allowed her eyes to close. Her thoughts became quiet enough to focus on one thing.

Her Fleur.

Of the stolen kisses at Hogwarts.

Of the future dreams, that now will never come true.

Of the Delacour family, welcoming her with open arms.

Of freedom, and peace, and a future that maybe one day will be the present.

Of their first time together, inexperienced, but memorable.

Of Fleur, standing by her side relentlessly.

Hermione couldn’t help the smile that crossed her face, allowing it to sink further into the mud. There were so many things she still wanted to do with her French witch. But there would never be time.

They were out of time.

_You don’t need to fight anymore mon amour._

_I love you._

_Je t’aime._

With her stomach pressed into mud, Hermione Jean Granger broke her promise.


	2. Fleur Delacour

Fleur Delacour was known for many things. She was not, however, known for her waiting skills. And that’s all the former TriWizard Champion seemed to be doing. Waiting. Waiting for the war to end. Waiting for the war to come to them. Waiting waiting waiting.

Waiting for Hermione to fulfill her promise. 

Waiting for Hermione to come back.

Shell Cottage was located by its own private stretch of beach. Admittedly, the private beach was due to the positioning of the wards. But private, all the same. The Order had given Bill Weasley and herself strict instructions to stay there. Stay put. Stay safe. Stay calm. Stay _sane._ Wait wait wait.

And it was, in Fleur’s opinion, frankly a waste of time, and boring her out of her mind.

Not that the Order ever _asked_ for her opinion.

Not after she gave her opinion on why it was taking Britain so long to get rid of a guy with a bad name.

So no, they didn’t ask for her opinion. Even if that event was a year ago.

Since August ended, they have had a grand total of four visitors. 

The first, a _patronus_ from Professor McGonagall, confirming what they knew already. The Golden Trio did not return to Hogwarts. The Death Eaters ran the school. And she hadn’t heard anything from Hermione.

Second and third (together), were Remus and Tonks. A private celebration of Tonks’ pregnancy. Private, like everything else seemed to be for this cottage.

And the final visitor; a Mr Ronald Weasley. Abandoning Hermione and Harry out of jealousy. Out of spite. For he believed some sort of romance blossoming between the other two. And, with her Goddesses as witnesses, she tried _so hard_ to get information out of him. Regarding their whereabouts. Regarding Hermione. Her Hermione. Not Ron’s. Not Harry’s. _Hers._

Regarding this stupid mission that a stupid man gave three _children._

Not that her Hermione was a child. 

No, Hermione Granger was _definitely_ not a child.

But that wasn’t Fleur’s point.

Fleur’s point was that she was bored. And worried. And then back to bored. Like a see-saw, constantly swapping between the two.

And the one thing, no, the one _person_ who could give her the knowledge she needed, Fleur was not allowed to curse to high heaven.

Fleur refused to speak to the boy the whole time Ron stayed with them. He would not tell her of Hermione, acting like she was _his_ , and would not tell her of this ever so important mission.

So to say that Fleur was relieved when she woke one morning to find him gone, would be an understatement. She was, in her own words, ecstatic.

Whilst she mourned her loss of information, the very fact he was unwilling to give it up made her feel slightly better.

And his table manners hadn’t improved since her visit to Hogwarts, all that time ago.

It wasn’t like Bill was going to let Fleur set his youngest brother on fire, after all. As tempting as it was. And she tried _so hard_ to get Bill to change his mind.

Growing up, Fleur had heard from her full-blooded family how different it was for them, when they found their one. Their soulmate. Full-blooded Veela could _sense_ them. Could feel their emotions. Feel a pull directing them to their other half.

Anything less than full - well, you’re screwed.

You could not sense your mate. Sure, you knew when you locked eyes, but otherwise there was no pull. Could not tell their emotions, where they are. Could not tell if tragedy had befallen them. Not that Fleur was thinking about that. Because her Hermione made a promise.

And Hermione Jean Granger did _not_ break a promise.

And she promised to come back to her.

So instead, after Ronald had left their little cottage, Fleur got to work. She painted every room, at least twice. She cooked, and cleaned, and read. She was going to swim, but then remembered the Grindylows, and thought better of it. She couldn’t remember if they also lived in the ocean or not.

Fleur wrote letters to her family. They would never be delivered, not until this war was finished, but the thought was there all the same. 

Fleur wrote letters to Hermione.

The first few (twelve) were angry. Angry at the war. Angry at Dumbledore. Angry that Hermione had left her. Fleur let out her anger in the unsent letters. Once her anger was gone, it turned to other things. Stories from her childhood that Fleur had never told her English witch before. Potential theories for reversing her parent’s memory charm (although Fleur knew, deep down, there was no reversal for Muggles). Little, interesting facts about her day. Her dreams of their future.

Letters of the future they dared to dream together in stolen moments. As though if they were on paper, they had to come true.

Letters about the day after tomorrow, when the war is over, and there is peace, and freedom, and everything that came with it.

It was sometimes enough to keep Fleur sane.

She promised to _come back._

Sometimes it helped.

Other times, she brewed more potions than needed. Always keeping three, four, ten, extra bottles than what was really necessary.

There were a few times she allowed herself to dream of their future children. Would they have bushy blonde hair? Or straight brown hair? Eyes a deep blue, or melted brown ones? They would love books. And speak two languages. Maybe three. Those were definite. Would they go to Beauxbatons? Or go to Hogwarts?

Fleur hoped Beauxbatons - Hogwarts seemed far too dangerous for her future precious babies, and she has had enough of the rainy country for one lifetime.

Hermione Granger promised Fleur Delacour that she would come back.

And sometimes, that was all Fleur needed to get through her days.

That promise.

So, after all that waiting, when Fleur _felt_ that something was wrong with Hermione, she had to be restrained by Bill.

She was part-blooded. It should be impossible. But everything _hurt_ and it felt like _death_ and she couldn’t explain it to Bill, whilst fighting with every essence of her being, that _something was wrong_.

So Bill Weasley did the only thing he could think of.

He called Fleur’s mother.

Because _of course_ Bill _fucking_ Weasley would have a mobile phone.

_Of course_ he would have _her_ mother’s _fucking_ phone number.

And finally, _of fucking course_ her mother would bring Gabrielle, and her father, and her grandmother for a highly illegal family holiday.

Like she needed a family reunion at this point in her life.

And none of them knew what Fleur Delacour meant by she felt _death_ and _hurt_ and _merde everything hurt too much. Too much too fast._ Too much too fast. How much is _too_ much?

_Her Hermione_ was _hurt_ and if they didn’t let her go then she was seriously going to hurt someone else.

Fleur needed to help Hermione.

She needed to save her.

(Before it was too late.)

There were no explanations. This was unprecedented. Because Fleur Delacour was not full-blooded. She should not feel Hermione’s pain. But _oh Goddesses_ did she.

She felt like _death._

For the briefest time, Fleur felt _nothing._

No - that was wrong.

Fleur felt like she had _given up._

But Hermione Jean Granger would not _could not_ break this promise.

She promised to come back.

_Je t’aime._

_Je t’aime._

_Je t’aime._

A mantra. Nothing else. Fleur kept that thought running through her head.

Then Fleur heard it.

Heard her.

Heard Hermione.

Heard her Hermione Granger.

_I love you._

_I’m sorry._

But that couldn’t be true. That couldn’t be _her Hermione._ Because her Hermione promised to come back. And it was made all the worse by the feeling of the pull. 

_Pulling her heart out of her chest._

But her family had no answers as to _why_ she was feeling like that.

She shouldn’t. Because she wasn’t full-blooded.

_Je t’aime._

_Je t’aime._

_Tu m’avais promis._

_You promised me you’ll come back, Hermione._

And then there was a brief respite from the pain. Her heart was still pulling, but there was no pain. Her father had taken Gabrielle into the kitchen, Bill at their heels. Her mother, and her grandmother had no answers, and Fleur told them all she could whilst the pain had stopped.

And then it started again. Worse. Much worse.

_Je t’aime._

_Je t’aime. Please._

There were still no answers, and Fleur, curled on the floor of her recently repainted living room, could do nothing but scream. 

There were brief breaks from this pain. Unlike before. This pain came and went like the tide Fleur spent her mornings watching. And it came with more questions than answers.

Fleur needed to help Hermione.

She needed to save her.

(Before it was too late.)

But she couldn’t. Her mother gave up on restraining Fleur when it became clear that she couldn’t move from the pain. She felt potions being forced down her throat, spells cast, but nothing helped.

Nothing stopped the pain.

Almost like it hit a crescendo, the pain focussed on her arm. Fleur clawed at it - _when did her fingers turn to talons?_

Hermione Granger promised to come back.

_Je t’aime._

And Hermione Granger _never_ broke a promise.

Fleur wouldn’t let herself believe that Hermione would break this one.

She couldn’t let herself believe it.

Fleur Delacour did not feel her wards being breached. She did not hear Bill shouting, did not hear her father rushing out the door after him. She couldn’t focus on anything but the pain, and her mantra.

_Je t’aime._

_Je t’aime._

_Je t’aime._

_Je t’aime._

What Fleur Delacour did feel, however, was the pain stopping. And then it started again, not as bad, but it still felt like cuts over her face, over her back, her arm, her ribs, her hips, _everywhere._

But it wasn’t as bad as before.

Her heart was tugging more insistently now, desperately trying to rip out of her chest. 

Fleur Delacour felt the second time her wards were breached. And she heard Bill shouting, screaming her name. She heard her father rushing back, trying to pull Gabrielle away from the kitchen. Fleur heard her little sister arguing back, wanting to know what was happening.

Fleur did not feel her mother and grandmother try to stop her as she ran. She ran past her arguing sister, past the kitchen door. Following her heart. Following the tug until it lessened.

She felt, before she saw, the small bundle curled on the now red sand dune. Her feet pumped faster, knowing her family were a step behind her. Heart leaping, pulling, tugging.

_Just a little more._

_Je t’aime._

Hermione Jean Granger never broke a promise.

_Je t’aime._

And she promised to come back to Fleur.

_Je t’aime je t’aime je t’aime._

Fleur fell to her knees next to the bundle, vaguely aware of herself snarling at the other two wizards for getting too close. Bushy hair, matted, and _too much too fast_ blood. All pushed aside, desperate talons trying to find something.

Fleur did not hear the other wizards explaining to Bill that _they_ healed Hermione. Healed her _just_ enough to have a _chat, girl to girl._ She could not hear that. Not with _her_ Hermione on the floor.

Her heart had ceased its tugging. Had ceased anything. For the first time all evening, there was nothing. No tug. No thump. No beat no melody.

And then it all came crashing in.

Hermione Jean Granger did keep her promise.

She did come back.

  
Fleur Delacour should have been more specific with _how._


End file.
